


Whispers in the Dark

by Iceshard1011



Series: A Change of Perspective [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Corruption, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Being Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Eventual Happy Ending, Former Dark Side Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Repression, Sympathetic Sides (Sanders Sides), Temporary Character Death, Unreliable Narrator, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28644279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iceshard1011/pseuds/Iceshard1011
Summary: Something has gone wrong with the Light Sides. The worst in Logic, Morality and Creativity has risen to the surface. It’s destroying them, and if it's not fixed, they may not be the only ones corrupted.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders
Series: A Change of Perspective [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099088
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i got tired of keeping people waiting, so the continuation to the first part, 'Chillin' Like A Villain' will now come in the form of a multichapter fic. i must apologise, as i think the story may blindside those of you kind souls who requested a follow-up chapter; the plot takes quite a twist. i hope you stay 'til the end.
> 
> tw: brief beginnings of a panic attack, yelling/shouting, brief mention and discussion of death

Janus was dead.

For deceit being a word derived from Old French, manifested in a young Thomas Sanders’ mind as a self-defense mechanism, the fact should have been a lie. Sides of an individual's personality could not die, as they were never alive in the first place. In a metaphorical sense, the nature of a person may evolve, and therefore lessening certain attributes to make up their psyche.

That was just the point, however: Thomas had not felt a lick of difference between the last time he had seen Janus, to where he was presently being confronted by Logan. The world had started spinning early on in his logical side’s explanation. He hadn’t registered sinking into the closest chair at the table until he realised Patton was there too, and he seemed taller than usual. Thomas figured his morality was also the source of the reassuring rubbing sensation at his shoulders.

“I don’t feel any different.” Thomas’ voice was hoarse.

“You are able to be deceptive,” Logan said briskly. Thomas wasn’t looking at his face, so he couldn’t see his expression. From his voice alone, Thomas wondered if he was even upset. “The function is still present. It is just… less concentrated, now.”

“How does this even _happen..?”_ Thomas rasped.

Logan’s hands were neatly folded behind his back, so his shrug looked slightly awkward. “We are not sure.”

Somehow, that of all things, hurt the most. A part of himself had just somehow _disappeared_ and no one even knew how it happened? Patton hugged him from behind.

“It’ll be okay, kiddo.” The moral side’s voice sounded scratchy.

“What do I do?” Thomas finally looked up to look Logan in the eyes. His face was a passive mask. Thomas hoped he wasn’t imagining the hint of _something_ disguised by neutrality.

“Carry on as you normally would, Thomas,” Logan said blandly. “Realistically, nothing has changed.”

_“Logan.”_ Patton’s eyes were wide and accusing as he glared at the logical side. Logan did not seem fazed.

“That is the current truth of the matter, Thomas,” he said unapologetically. “This has not affected your life so you should continue to behave as such.”

Patton looked crushed. Thomas couldn’t decipher what to possibly describe the emotions crashing in him like an ocean’s waves against a rocky shore during a storm. He wanted to demand to have more information, or hang his head, cry? Hate himself for not noticing, not reacting, not _feeling anything change,_ what sort of person was he?

“Don’t beat yourself up, kiddo,” Patton said softly. “Please. It won’t help anyone.”

Thomas just barely managed a nod. He tried to say _okay,_ but it came out soundless.

“In other matters,” Logan continued briskly, and Thomas wasn’t sure what he was feeling for his logical side, “we must be returning to your mindscape. There are certain issues we need to address.”

Thomas didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he was able.

Even if he wanted to.

The first strange occurrence, barring the catalyst and elephant in the room, was when Logan and Patton arrived back from talking to Thomas.

Personally, Virgil couldn’t imagine being in their situation, even after the decision was made and agreed upon that they would have been the best options to both support and inform Thomas. Roman and Virgil had stayed in the mindscape. Even before this point, they hadn’t managed to find Remus.

Patton, being Patton, had been distraught all morning, frantic and distressed and the most fragile Virgil had ever seen him. It only made sense because this was _Patton_ — anyone else and Virgil would have assumed they were being impersonated (even though that was kind of impossible now…)

Logan, true to his robotic self, was just as he always was. He had given himself jobs to do, both to help Thomas and aid his sides, and was carrying them out dutifully and indifferently. Virgil wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Virgil wasn’t sure how he felt at all.

He’d curled himself up on the couch for the morning, alternating between idly scrolling through his phone and absentmindedly watching his family. He tried not to think about anything much. He feared that if he did, he’d spiral.

Roman, admittedly, had been a bit of a surprise. The creative side was dramatic and emotionally driven, Virgil knew this. He was either blurting out whatever was on his mind, or too afraid to speak his thoughts when given the opportunity.

Roman, all morning, had been completely silent.

Of course, no one had accompanied him when he left for the Imagination to search for his brother, and he may have at least called aloud for Remus then, but Virgil wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t cried, like Patton, nor had he continued on with his day like Logan. Virgil wondered if the poor side was stuck between the pair’s reactions, unsure of what to do or say.

Virgil had offered Roman a spot on the couch beside him, and he’d wordlessly accepted. He still hadn’t spoken a word, but he’d moved his hand to lightly grip Virgil’s ankle as he stared blankly at the carpet. Virgil wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, but he wasn’t going to kick Princey off.

For once, Virgil could do something for him, and if that was just offering silent grounding support at the expense of a mild disliking for touch, then Virgil would deal.

There was something that Virgil had noticed though, in his quiet reflections, watching Patton and Logan argue back and forth: they were acting quite a lot differently than any other day. This was obviously a given, provided the circumstances and situation at hand, but it was more than simply acting out through a break of routine or shock or grief: they weren’t lying.

At first, Virgil was unsure whether Patton was coming off as snappish and frustrated was due to his emotional state, but something wasn’t sitting quite right with him at how angry Logan was getting in return. As much as he tried to disguise it, it was a well-known fact throughout the mindscape that Logan had emotions, just like the rest of them. He was Logan just as much as he was logic, and Logan had feelings. Logan got angry. And currently, he was the angriest Virgil had ever seen.

At this point, Roman had been shaken from his stupor plainly by the shouting match between Thomas’ head and heart. The creative side was watching them with a slightly confused expression, but his eyes were dull.

Virgil looked between his three family members, his nerves beginning to kick up. The calm, muted balm he’d masked over his mind was beginning to crack and break, and the louder Patton and Logan yelled, the more Virgil’s anxiety kicked up.

He pressed himself to the back of the couch with a muttered, “Fuck.”

He needed a distraction. He needed his headphones — where had he put his headphones? He began to glance around the room, his heart rate further increasing the more he slowly began to panic.

“Hey, Princey, have you seen my headphones?” he asked over his shoulder as he glanced over to the dinner table.

He didn’t get an answer, and instead heard a strange ripping sound over the arguing. When he glanced over, he felt the heat drain from his face.

“Roman!” he cried, watching as the creative side ripped another page from his beloved journal. “What are you doing?”

Roman didn’t answer him, and instead continued to destroy the book he was always bragging about, writing in, fawning over. Virgil couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Hey, _stop!”_ he snapped, lunging forward to yank on Roman’s arm. The prince barely budged. _“Hey,_ dumbass, look at me! What’s wrong with you?”

Roman paused what he was doing to glance mildly up at Virgil, who flinched back with a startled gasp.

Roman’s eyes, usually a flaming brown, an imitation of Thomas’ with additional flecks of fire, were dulled to a horrific grey. Virgil pulled back from him, opening and closing his mouth without any sound successfully coming out. Roman continued to stare dully at him. There was not a hint of his usual dramatic, flamboyant, excitable flare on his face. Virgil blinked and cleared his throat before finally managing to find his voice.

“Roman, it’s okay.” He was never one for reassuring, but if it got the creative side out of this weird emotional comatose, it wasn’t much of a sacrifice. “C’mon, Princey, we’ll bounce back. We’ll work it out as a team, like always.”

Logan somehow managed to raise his voice even higher, and Virgil winced.

“Maybe it might take a little longer than the watch time of a YouTube video, but that’s what family does, right? Bet Patton could go on a whole rant about that.”

Roman didn’t reply. Virgil swallowed and looked down at the half-ripped page of his notebook. He gently clutched Roman’s hand and tried to pull it away but had no luck.

“What’s wrong, Princey?” he asked, trying for teasing and coming out soft. “What’s so bad about the notebook that you had to go attack it, huh?”

Roman looked slowly down at the book. “They are dumb,” he said finally. His voice sounded just as void of colour as his eyes, but Virgil wasn’t sure that made any sense.

“The ideas?” Virgil asked. Roman hummed. Virgil elbowed him in the ribs. Normally, Roman would shriek in outrage, or complain loudly to Patton, or squeal or retaliate or _something_ other than just _side there._ “Aren’t _you_ always going on about how ‘no ideas are dumb ideas’? I'm not so sure you can _have_ dumb ideas, Princey. Eccentric, maybe. Unique. Weird, probably, but not dumb.”

Roman, in response, gripped each side of the open journal in hand, and tore it straight down the middle.

Virgil watched in horror as the pages fluttered to the floor, scattering across the room. Roman dropped the front and back of the book, which fell to the carpet with sad thumps. Virgil felt for all the world as if Roman had just taken something that belonged to _him_ and ripped it to pieces in front of him.

“Ro… Roman,” he whispered, at a complete loss.

Roman ignored him and stood up, moving for the stairs. Virgil looked between him and Patton and Logan, who were still fighting.

“What— no, no— what? Guys—” Virgil’s hands were shaking. Fuck.

He clenched his fists.

_No._ He was not going to lose it. He had his friends to care for, to protect. He was not going to lose control of himself, not now.

He stood from the couch and hurried to Patton, gently gripping his shoulder.

“Patton—” he started but was promptly yelled over. He shook the moral side’s shoulder. _“Pat—”_

And Patton, for all he was cheerful and supportive and loving, pushed him off.

Virgil actually staggered at the force of his push. He braced himself against the dinner table, trying to wrap his head around what was going on.

Roman had made it to the stairs. Virgil didn’t know where he was going — to the Imagination? To his room? To destroy more of his things? Patton and Logan were _still yelling—_

“CAN EVERYONE JUST _STOP?”_ he roared.

Everyone, by chance, did indeed stop

Virgil glared over at all three of them.

“Knock it OFF,” he snapped. “Do you not think we have more IMPORTANT things to worry about? Do you really think pointless _quarrelling_ is going to help yourself? Each other? _Thomas?”_ He glared at each of his friends, furious. “Get a _grip._ We have things to do and they do _not_ include picking fights like this!”

It was silent for an indecisive amount of time.

“That wasn’t very nice, kiddo,” Patton said, a frown in his voice. Virgil sighed. Yeah, it probably hadn’t been.

“I’m sorry, Pat,” he said, turning to face the moral side. “But—”

He yelped, his muscles seizing in horror. Patton stared at him, a horrible black having eaten up the whites of his warm, kind eyes.

_“What the—”_ he stumbled back. “Patton—”

“You should be nicer,” the moral side said, his voice cold.

“Patton— what—”

Virgil took another step back and bumped into something. Turning, he found Roman had retreated from the stairs and was now frowning down at him. Virgil warily eyed the sword clenched in his white-knuckled grip.

“Perhaps it would be beneficial to fix that issue.” Now Logan was joining Patton and _his_ eyes were pale and distant and Virgil had no idea what the hell was going on but he did _not_ like it.

“What are you guys going on about?” he asked, looking between his family members with increased panic.

“He needs to go.”

Virgil whipped around to face Roman, his jaw hanging loose in shock.

“What?” he tried to demand, but his voice, strangely, only came out as a hoarse croak. “I’m— Thomas needs me. I thought— you guys wanted me—”

“He does not need you.”

Virgil glanced back at Logan, his head beginning to spin. He was surrounded. Cornered. Trapped, by his own family… but they wouldn’t hurt him. Right? They loved him. Of course they wouldn’t…

The way their eyes made Virgil feel as if he were shrinking wasn’t very reassuring.

“Guys…” He staggered back. The back of his knees bumped into the coffee table. He felt sick. “Pat— L…”

Fuck, he was panicking. His hands were shaking as his breath ratcheted up slightly faster than healthy. A flash of lights reflecting off cold steel caught his eye and he flinched. They wouldn’t hurt him. The four of them were a family. A silly, mushy, overly affectionate and dedicated family who baked cookies on rainy days and shared a blanket spanning the size of the couch during movie nights.

Roman’s sword swiped in Virgil’s direction.

With a cry of which he wasn’t sure was terror or emotional upset, Virgil sunk out, narrowly missing the glinting blade.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: remus being remus (innuendo, cursing, inappropriate language), slight horror aspects (weird noises, dark atmosphere)

Virgil was too busy panicking about Princey almost taking his head off that he didn’t initially realise just where he had sunk out to, exactly.

Sure, thinking logically, maybe Roman was the most obvious choice to be the executioner of Anxiety — if there had to be one in the first place, which personally, Virgil didn’t think was necessary. Roman was the one with the sword, the fiery temperament, the one whose constant stride for goodness and stubborn personality aided his fuel for keeping things just the way he thought they should be. Patton had always taken a shine to Virgil, for whatever reason he was never sure of, and Logan had admitted aloud on multiple occasions that he enjoyed Virgil’s company. Roman had always been harder to read. Spending all his time shooting Virgil hostile glares and cold shoulders and suddenly, when Thomas changed his mind, Roman was ready to act as if none of that had happened? Virgil figured he would be forgiven if he had never been one hundred percent convinced.

So, objectively, Roman making a move to turn Virgil into a kebab? Not that out of the ordinary.

From Virgil’s perspective, who had, at this point, spend years with the trio of light sides, earned a spot in their family, been embraced to be one with them and loved and supported? He felt sick.

Something was wrong. That was a given. Something had fucked with the light sides, and Virgil hadn’t the slightest clue exactly what. Their eyes, the way they talked — the way they _acted…_ Roman tearing up his creations? Logan and Patton spitting and hissing like a pair of feral cats? Virgil tried not to shudder.

It was then, finally, that he realised where he was.

He had not sunken to the comforts of his room.

Virgil realised almost similarly that he had, though, sunken to his knees. He stood slowly, feeling as if his muscles were shot through with ice and volts of electricity. He shivered again and risked a glance around the dark confides of the subconscious. It wasn’t the mirror image of Thomas’ apartment. Virgil didn’t know where he was; he couldn’t recognise anything around him. He had never enjoyed many parts of the subconscious for this reason. Remus had admitted on multiple occasions that he enjoyed wandering around in the dark expanses of the hidden sections of Thomas’ mind. Apparently, they could go on for hours, days, with no way to discern where one was or how to escape and return to familiar ground.

Oh _god,_ Virgil really hoped he wasn’t currently in a spot like that. He experimentally moved forward and found no obstacles preventing his journey, so he continued through the darkness.

It probably wasn’t all that cold, but Virgil couldn’t help the shivers that shuddered up his spine. He hadn’t expected to be back here for a long time. Ever, really, if he could help it.

As he walked, somehow, his mind faded from the fears of the unknown of the subconscious and circled back to the light sides. What the hell had happened, back there?

There was an obvious catalyst, one that Virgil was not going to think about because he had sworn to himself that he wasn’t going to start caring now of all times… but there weren’t many other avenues to explore, were there?

_ Think about this the way Logan would. _

So: The ‘What?’ and ‘When?’ of the situation was already apparent — crazed light sides, family wanted him gone and/or killed just a few minutes ago, super fun.

The ‘How?’ was mostly solved, too, if speculation counted, even though Virgil was still Not Thinking About It.

But then…

‘Why?’

Virgil paused, both physically and in his thoughts.

Why what?

Was he supposed to ask why his family was suddenly treating him like Anxiety — like the _worst possible version_ of Anxiety? How could he answer that? He doubted they even knew, really, but it wasn’t like he could go back and ask. That was off the table.

Virgil knew that there were… _things_ in Thomas’ subconscious. Things that Thomas himself wasn’t aware of, and hopefully would never be aware of. Things that, just like repressed personality sides, were supposed to be kept in the depths of the mind. Things that had been kept under control and in-check since Thomas had been young. Things that certainly should never be able to be stronger that their repressor.

Virgil bit the nail of his thumb.

So what had happened? How had these things suddenly managed to become such a problem?

A screech ripped through the darkness. All the hairs on Virgil’s body rose up alongside the goosebumps. Heart hammering, he glanced around himself, holding his breath. The noise had been distant, nowhere near him. It didn't make him feel any better. Why had he stuck himself down here?

He needed to keep moving.

Virgil frowned in thought, having honestly forgotten what he had been thinking about, or trying to deduce, in his panic.

As he walked, brow furrowed and deep in thought, Virgil was unaware of the pair of eyes stalking him, only a few feet away.

So when a shadow leapt at him was a cry, the shriek that left the anxious side was almost enough to shatter right through the darkness. He ducked and rolled across the ground. He leapt up and spun, teeth bared and eyes glowing.

It was unfairly anticlimactic when he merely got an amused look and chortling for his terror. If Virgil hadn’t been so suddenly weak in the knees, he would have snapped Remus’ neck right off his shoulders.

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” Virgil hissed.

Remus smirked at him and bowed mockingly. He didn’t say anything, not a genuine thanks or disgusting metaphor or questionable scathing remark, which rose Virgil’s suspicions. Virgil scowled at him.

“Why are you acting weird?” he demanded, which seemed to catch Remus — or whatever was impersonating him — off-guard. “You’ve been standing there for at least ten seconds now and you haven’t said a word.”

Remus blinked, then. He visibly swallowed a few times, then grinned toothily. “Missing some nails on chalkboards in your life, emo?”

Virgil paused, because that did seem like Remus would say, maybe, but his voice wasn’t shrill, wasn’t high, wasn’t proud or particularly cheery or teasing. It was hoarse, a scratchy, and painful. Like someone had swallowed sandpaper. Or hadn’t drank anything in days. Or had screamed for hours on end without pause. Virgil grimaced.

Nothing impersonating Remus would do this horrible a job at it.

“Came to gloat? Maybe steal some stuff? Ooo, are you planning on fucking with me? That’d be pretty funny, given I just scared you so hard I’m almost certain you pissed your pants. You were always such a—”

“First of all, stop talking,” Virgil snapped. Remus, surprisingly, obeyed. “You can hardly talk anyway, and I’m not in the mood for your ridiculously disgusting shenanigans. Second, I didn’t choose to come back to the subconscious. You know I wouldn’t do that willingly. And third…” Virgil trailed off. He thought quietly to himself while Remus waited, uncharacteristically patient. Virgil didn’t bother to suppress his sigh. “I need your help.”

Remus’ eyes lit up. “Oh?” he said in his scratchy voice. “Want a hand grave-digging or something?”

Virgil scowled to hide his wince. “No! What did I say about your unwanted creative imagery?”

“That you weren’t in the mood for it,” Remus supplied. “You never mentioned how I had to take that. It’s a compliment, as far as I’m concerned.”

Another unearthly shriek, still far off but closer than before. Virgil was surprised to see Remus tensing alongside him. He didn’t mention it. Instead, he said, “Something’s wrong.”

The look Remus shot him was, in all honesty, slightly scathing, which was concerning to see from him. “Only just worked that out now, genius?”

“Listen,” Virgil snapped, then hesitated with an anxious glance around the stifling darkness. “Can you get us to the— get us somewhere else?”

Remus looked unimpressed, but he turned and stalked off. Virgil had to hurry to catch up. He tried not to stare, but it was almost impossible not to recognise the differences in both Remus and his outfit that wouldn’t normally be there. His sash was faded, for one, which was odd. His boots were scuffed. The tassels on his shoulders were ripped. Both of Thomas’ Creativities had always taken pride in their very deliberate appearances, whether or not said appearances were as favoured among their fellow sides. Trash-covered clothes and eyeball accessories didn’t particularly appeal to Virgil, personally.

He tried not to think about the bruises decorating Remus’ eyes, or how thin he looked. He definitely tried not to think about Remus’ voice.

Just as he tried not to think about the ragged embodiment of intrusive creativity, or the howls in the dark that sent shivers up his spine, Virgil struggled to avoid thinking about the root of The Problem.

Virgil didn’t have any input into how Thomas was currently faring. He couldn’t know for certain if it was something that he was doing to affect his sides, or if how his sides were acting was affecting him. Virgil hoped his increased panic wasn’t disturbing Thomas. For how uptight he was feeling, that would not have been ideal.

Virgil clenched his fists. The pain of his nails digging into his palms snapped him from his own thoughts. Not thinking about it, remember?

He hadn’t even realised they had made it to the subconscious living room until he walked right into a wall. He blinked and took a step back. Remus raised an eyebrow at him. Virgil was unsure if he was amused or annoyed.

“So?” he prompted without preamble, tilting himself back to collapse onto the couch. Dust billowed out from under him. “What’s so wrong that little Anxiety had to come running back?”

Virgil looked at Remus, then at the couch. Unfortunately, he knew very well what the ‘something’ was, but there was something off about the room. Like something was missing.

_ Not thinking about it. _

“You’re not gonna get offered tea, or anything,” Remus said, rather coldly. “I’m not about to make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be. I’m not the hospital one. You know that.”

Virgil managed to hide his wince. He did know.

He also wasn’t thinking about it.

He sat.

Remus folded his arms. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t wield his morning star as a casual, quiet threat. He seemed plainly, and utterly alien. “What’s gnawing on your brain?”

Virgil awkwardly clasped his hands together, squeezing in an attempt to ground himself. Only when his own knuckles began to creak in protest did he force himself to relax.

“Something’s happened,” he said lamely. Remus’ humourless snort made Virgil wilt, but he continued. He told Remus about what had happened earlier that morning, how Logan and Patton had gone to talk to Thomas and come back out of sorts. How Roman had been entirely silent until his possessed-like urge to tear his works, his art, himself apart. Remus slowly looked more horrified each second Virgil talked. It was a hard thing to do, scare Remus. Nine times out of ten, Remus was the scariest thing in Thomas’ mind, if not for the things he created, or the rare occasions that Virgil needed to kick into gear.

He sat now, with his hands fisted in his clothes, eyes blown wide and round. He looked bewildered. He looked uneasy. Some of the flashes in his eyes looked angry when Virgil described how the light sides had turned on him, though Virgil hadn’t the slightest clue why.

Virgil had to clench his clasped hands again, to the point that they were straining red and white to keep them from shaking. He had no such luck with his voice, however, as he couldn’t prevent the thickness that rose to his throat when he thought back to Patton’s cold look and Roman’s threats.

He had told himself he wasn’t going to cry.

“I don’t know what it could be,” he finished finally. He was no longer meeting Remus’ gaze, instead opting to study the dark carpet beneath his shoes. “I don’t understand how— why—”

“How Janus dying has physically affected your perfect little family?” Remus said, and Virgil flinched so violently he startled Remus.  He avoided the intrusive creativity’s gaze. He didn’t reply, but he figured his silence was enough of a ‘yes’.  “So what are you doing here?” Remus asked, kicking back. He seemed far too relaxed. “I’m not going to be any help.”

“But you could,” Virgil protested, looking up to frown at Remus before he could stop himself. “You’re good at fighting. You’re good at— at snapping people out of funks.” Remus scoffed. “Please, Remus, I—”

“Why should I help you?” Remus demanded abruptly. “Why should I kneel between your legs and suck your dick when you come running to me after _years_ of living a perfect life when one little thing strokes you the wrong way?”

“This isn’t about me!” Virgil cried.

“But it is!” Remus argued.

“We have no idea how this could be affecting Thomas, and—”

“If this hadn’t happened,” Remus interrupted, eerily calmer, “if your fucktoys hadn’t suddenly snapped, would you still be here?”

Virgil frowned. “What?”

“If you were still going about your usual, ‘light side’ business, would you still have come down here?”

Virgil was lost. “Why would I?”

Judging by the way Remus’ expression shattered, and his shoulders slumped in complete defeat, that had been the wrong thing to say.

“Exactly.” His voice was an unusual murmur. Virgil didn’t know why he looked so broken at having his point made. “Exactly. You don’t care, Virgil. You have something better than a pair of ripped blankets soaked in vats of oil.” Virgil wrinkled his nose. Remus stood and turned, making for the door. He paused but didn’t look over his shoulder. “If you wouldn’t come down here for Janus, why should I come up with you?”

Virgil’s stomach flipped. _That’s_ what Remus had been talking about?

He almost reached out for Remus, to call him back, to beg about the misunderstanding, but something was caught in the back of his mind, wriggling and trying to escape like a fly in a web.

What: His family going crazy.

How: Janus was dead.

These didn’t connect, they couldn’t have possibly connected, except…

Why: Janus was Deceit.

Deceit. Denial. Disguises and lying. Manipulation and pretending. Repression.

Virgil shot to his feet.

“That’s it,” he whispered. Remus hadn’t left yet. He was giving Virgil an odd look. “Oh, my god, Remus— That’s _it.”_

“What’s got your cock in a twist?” he asked. Virgil held up his hands, his brow furrowed.

“No— no more vulgar references, right now, just— just give me—” His feet started to move, taking him in a cycle of pacing around the living room.

_Deceit,_ he thought, over like a broken record. There was something to this, he just… _Deceit. Denial. Repression. Deceit…_

“Dark sides,” he said aloud, as if that meant anything. Across the room, Remus looked thoroughly confused.

“If I can’t make funny jokes, can you at least tell me why?”

“I sunk out,” Virgil realised. Remus’ face was screwed up in bewilderment. Virgil’s pacing increased. “I meant to sink to my bedroom and instead I fell right to the subconscious.”

Remus looked away. “The barrier’s weakened.”

Virgil spun to him. “What?”

Remus shrugged. “The barrier between dark and light. You know, usually, it’s a lot stronger. I could go bother Thomas right now if I wanted to. It’s not uh… y’know, it hasn’t got the same power anymore.”

“Why?”

Remus shot him a dark look mixed between contempt and confusion.

“Because Thomas’ concept of deceit is weak,” he said in a voice that said, _Don’t you know this already?_

_Deceit…_ Virgil bit his lip, still wracking his brain. “Do you feel weird?”

Remus regarded him. “Not ‘wanting to murder someone’ weird. Right now, at least. Not in the mood.”

“Not crazy,” Virgil elaborated but Remus shot him a sharp-toothed grin.

“I’m always crazy.”

The pieces clicked.

“That’s it!” Virgil cried.

Remus jumped, startled. _"W_ _hat?_ Emo, you’re not making any sense.”

Virgil shot him a glare. “Don’t call me that.”

Remus scowled and scuffed his boot over the carpet, muttering something that sounded like, _“Double standards.”_

“Listen!” Virgil lunged forward and gripped Remus’ arms. He got a wide-eyed look in return. “Janus’ job was the control of the function of deceit.”

“Yeah, it was,” bitterly agreed Remus, “thanks for the reminder.”

_“Listen,"_ Virgil said again. “If he’s gone, so is that control.” Remus squinted at him. “We’re dark sides. We’re used to having to control ourselves, help from Deceit or not, because Thomas has needed us to handle that. But the light sides—"

“Never had to worry because Deceit hid the worst parts about themselves for them,” Remus said, his eyes widening.

Virgil’s grip on his arms tightened. “Exactly, and now that control of deceit is gone—"

“The repression bursting to the surface has corrupted them,” finished Remus. Virgil’s eyes lit up.

“Right!”

Remus smirked and socked him in the shoulder. “Good thinking, emo.” Virgil growled at him, and Remus’ smirk dropped in reply. “But I’m still not going to help you.”

“What?” Virgil cried, pulling back. “Why not?”

“It doesn’t affect me,” Remus said, waving his hand dismissively and making for the door. “I can keep living like a slug in mud for the rest of my life until I’m picked off by the subconscious.”

Fear spiked in Virgil’s heart. “No!”

Remus didn’t stop. Virgil launched across the room at him, latching to his arm.

“Get off, you slippery little arachne,” he snapped, shoving at Virgil. “Maybe it’s time you know how it feels to lose _your_ family.”

“No!” Virgil shouted again.

“You—”

“I will not lose you, too!”

Remus froze, looking at Virgil as if he had just jumped from a ten-story building. Virgil glared up at him, fury tightening his death grip.

“This mess has to do with Janus,” he begun slowly. “If we want to fix the light sides, we need to work out the issue with the lack of deceit.”

“We can’t get him—”

“Metaphysical human beings shouldn’t be able to die!” Virgil interrupted. “We’re going to fix this, and then we’ll fix the light sides, and then if none of that works then we’re at least going to try and fix this.” He squeezed Remus’ arm. By the look on the dark creative side’s face, he knew Virgil wasn’t talking about some weird problem with his elbow.

“Plus,” he started again, in a quieter, unsure voice, “if it all goes to hell you can always bash Roman over the head.”

It hurt to say, like he was admitting defeat — worse, that he was going to allow something bad to happen to his family — but the effort, at least, seemed to catch Remus’ attention.

“Okay,” he relented, and Virgil slowly let go of his arm. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. After a moment of seemingly indecision, he moved back to the coffee table. Virgil watched as he opened on of the drawers beneath and pulled out and unrolled a large scroll-looking piece of paper.

“A map?” he said incredulously. “Really?”

“It wasn’t my idea to keep it,” Remus mumbled, gesturing him over. Obediently, Virgil glanced over his shoulder, trying to make sense of the shapes and abstracts on the paper.

“I understand nothing on there.”

Remus pointed to the top of the paper. “This is the mindscape. You can’t exactly sink out to there.” Virgil grumbled under his breath. “We’re here.” He pointed to the bottom right, where a picture of the couches had been lightly sketched, accompanied by a green butt.

“So we have to get from here to there,” Virgil guessed.

“No, we’re going to go over here.” Remus pointed to the far bottom left, where it was scribbled with dark images and horrific looking visages. Virgil blanched. Remus rolled his eyes. “Yes, Virgil, we’re going to the mindscape.”

Virgil punched him in the back. “Asshole.”

Remus winked over his shoulder at him before turning back to the map with an oddly serious expression.  “Only problem is, amongst the hallucinations and nightmares and very incorporeal yet very real threats, we’re going to have to deal with self-destruction.”

Virgil’s heart sunk.

“Goody,” muttered Virgil.

Remus clenched his fists over the coffee table. His eyes were tight. After hesitating, Virgil squeezed his shoulder.

“We’ll fix it,” he reminded him.

Remus growled. “They shouldn’t be so powerful.”

“Thomas’ mental health hasn’t exactly been great,” Virgil reasoned gently.

“Not to the point that they’re strong enough to kill a side!” Remus snarled. Virgil flinched back, pulling away from Remus to shuffle to the other end of the coffee table.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly.

Remus’ gaze remained fixed on him before he heaved another sigh. Virgil wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Remus so… tired.

“We’ll work it out,” the creative side murmured, in his first attempt to be optimistic. “There’s… there’s two of us, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

“What, you are expecting that we go in back-to-back?” Virgil tried for a smirk. Remus met him with his own grin.

“It’s not a terrible plan.”

Virgil’s smile felt more real when he rolled his eyes and shook his head. He glanced back down at the map. “Through confusing hallways and nightmarish rooms full of monsters and self-destruction…”

“Into the mindscape where hostile and dangerous light sides will be waiting to give us just the nicest greeting,” Remus agreed.

“Joy,” Virgil said drily. Remus snorted. “Too bad we don’t have much of a choice.”

He rolled up the map and handed it to Remus (who stuck it down his pants, despite Virgil protests.) He refused Remus’ offer for a weapon, uncomfortable with holding so much as a dagger and convinced he would only end up stabbing himself somehow. Remus hefted up his morning star and marched for the door with far more confidence than Virgil had ever had.

“Ready?” Remus asked over his shoulder.

“Oh, sure,” Virgil said. “I love jumping headfirst into danger.”

Remus’ eyes twinkled. Virgil tried to ignore what he had just done.

Remus kicked the door open.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: anxious thoughts, being stalked (in an animalistic way), non-graphic violence, brief mild self-harm, crying, spiders (i hated writing this chapter lol)

They made it all of three hallways.

The subconscious seemed darker now that Virgil was no longer in the comfort of the dim light of the living room.

“I hate this,” he muttered for the third time. Remus didn’t seem annoyed. It allowed for Virgil to voice as many of his anxieties in a grumbled mutter as he wanted.

The only problem, Virgil found, with being Remus’ partner, was that he didn’t actually disagree, either. He wasn’t one for empty promises or useless comfort. Unfortunately, Virgil figured he wouldn’t mind being lied to just a little to feel a bit better about his current situation.

He found it incredibly, bitterly ironic.

He had decided, though, that he didn’t mind what Remus  _ did _ reply with, most times. Knowing Remus didn’t lie did make it reassuring when he would say, “This hallway has been quiet and still for ages, there’s nothing in here,” or “Stick close to the one with the weapon and you probably won’t get mauled.”

Personally, Virgil would much prefer to be with Patton, or Logan, but Remus helped in his own way. That, at least, was gratifying.

That said, it _was_ — until Remus froze in his tracks. Virgil paused beside him with a nervous glance around.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, squinting. He saw nothing through the darkness. Remus’ gaze, however, luminescent and narrowed, was fixed somewhere ahead of them. He didn’t answer.

“Remus,” Virgil hissed. “What do you see?”

Remus slowly moved to hold his morning star with two hands. Virgil fought back his terror.

_ “Remus,” _ Virgil started but was cut off with a sharp hiss from Remus. He swallowed and sidled closer to his friend. He couldn’t see what Remus was clearly looking at. He tried to scan their surroundings but saw nothing new. He couldn’t hear anything, either. There could be dozens of self-destruction out there, and he wouldn’t know.

_ No wonder these things killed Janus. _ Virgil almost physically flinched at his own thoughts, unwanted and cruel.

“Five of them.” Remus’ voice was hushed. Virgil looked up at him. “Two on either side of us. One front and back. Fifth one off to the side. They’re circling.”

Virgil clenched his fists to stop his hands from trembling. “What do we do?”

Remus’ scowl didn’t shift, but his head abruptly snapped to the side. The way he cursed under his breath was rather uninspiring.

“Another two,” he murmured.

Virgil swallowed his whimper. “Is it too late to take up that offer for a dagger?”

Slowly, Remus slipped something from his belt and pressed it to Virgil’s hands without taking his eyes off the dark environment.

“Keep it rolled up,” he instructed as Virgil wrinkled his nose down at the map. “You’re going to run.”

_ “Excuse me?” _

Remus didn’t seem to catch the fire in Virgil’s voice. “You’re wearing dark clothes, they’ll ignore you, for the moment.”

“It was  _ rhetorical,” _ hissed Virgil, “because I’m  _ not _ leaving you.”

“There’s a ladder around the bend, further up,” Remus continued, and Virgil snarled in frustration.

“Are you even  _ listening to—” _

“If you want to fix this then we can’t  _ both _ die here,” Remus snapped, finally tearing his eyes from around them to glare down at Virgil. His eyes blazed. “You’re the one with the plan, and the connections with the light sides, and Thomas, and the map.” Virgil hissed at him, furious. He was ignored. “Once you’re up the ladder, tip it over. They won’t be able to follow.”

“Do you not realise how  _ ridiculous  _ you’re—”

A shriek filled the air and horror rushed up Virgil’s bones. He froze up and had a second to think,  _ Move, you moron! Duck! Dodge! Do SOMETHING! _ before Remus took care of that fore him and shoved him face-down.

More screeches, and Virgil wanted to curl up on the ground and scream  _ back. _

“Move those little legs, emo!” Remus shouted at him. Virgil heard a  _ thunk _ of his morning star hitting something. “I’m expecting you to punch Roman for me.” There was a snarl (Virgil was unsure if it was a self-destruct or Remus) and an animalistic squeal.

“MOVE IT!” Remus roared, and Virgil forced himself to move. He shot forward, stumbling blindly. He didn’t hear or feel any pursuers — self-destruction or Remus.

He spotted the ladder when he was close enough, just peeking through the darkness. He shot up it, too fast to even consider how rickety it could be or what would happen if he fell or if it tipped over.

He didn’t stop running, even once he reached solid, cold ground again. He ran into walls, and bumped into boulders and desks and other odd, miscellaneous objects scattered throughout the hallways of the subconscious.

When he finally stumbled to a stop, he wasn’t sure if his ragged breathing was from exhaustion or emotion. He wasn’t sure if he cared. He stood there, bent over on his knees, wheezing, for an indiscernible amount of time. It was odd, the subconscious being so quiet. It felt wrong to only have his whistling breaths as his company.

He wasn’t entirely sure why it was  _ that _ thought that sent him spiraling, but the next second he was on his knees, biting back sobs as tears dripped onto his arms.

He’d left Remus. He’d just  _ left him. _ He’d done the one thing he had sworn  _ to Remus’ face _ that he wouldn’t.

Virgil cursed, then cursed again around a sob. What was  _ wrong  _ with him? What sort of sides was he? What sort of friend? Protector?

Digging his nails into his arms didn’t seem to snap him out of it. It only made him want someone there with him to gently hook their fingers around his and ease him to relax, cooing quietly and running gentle hands through his hair.

But that wasn’t happening because no one was here. He was alone. Everyone was  _ gone. _ He had  _ nobody  _ anymore.

Virgil’s pained gasp was louder than he’d realised. Had he really just lost everyone? His entire family? Just like that?

He choked on another sob.

Virgil was so caught up on scrubbing at his face that at first, he hadn’t registered the weird prickling on his knee. When he finally realised it was there, he moved to scratch it away, wondering if dirt had sunk between the rips of his jeans.

But then the thing  _ moved, _ and he shot to his feet. He squinted, his adjusted eyes barely managing to pick up the small — but  _ big _ — shape crawling along the floor.

He sniffed, rubbing furiously at his nose as he crouched down.

“What are you doing here?” he wondered aloud. “You lost too, huh?”

The spider, of course, didn’t reply. Virgil brushed a cautious finger along its back, but it quailed away. Virgil hummed softly. He didn’t exactly want to pick it up and bring it with him. He scrubbed at his face a final time.

He needed to get to the mindscape. Remus or not, he could reach Thomas there. He could talk to him, try and figure out  _ something. _ To do that, he needed to move.

Virgil stood. The spider scuttered back. Virgil stepped carefully around it, intent to continue — or at least find somewhere a little lighter where he could study the map — but he halted in his steps when he found another eight-legged critter in the middle of his path.

“Your friend just left,” he informed it helpfully, uselessly. He had to wonder if he had already gone crazy, or if it was normal to befriend random animals stumbled upon in the dark. He walked around the second spider but found another group of them.  Frowning, Virgil squinted, trying to count them, but he couldn’t see clearly through the foggy blackness.

Something tugged at his pants leg. He shook his leg and the spider behind him fell off but was replaced with two more.

“Where are you pests coming from?” he asked, annoyed.

As in answer, one crawled out from his hoodie pocket, which he had no idea how it had even  _ gotten _ to. He batted it down.  Itching at his neck made him shudder, and though he picked up the spider from the back of his neck with careful hands, he threw it to the ground with its friends with a yelp when he caught a glimpse of deformed fangs sticking from his body.

“I am _not_ in the mood, you beady-eyed menaces,” he grumbled, stomping past them.  Something crunched beneath his foot and he realised with a horrified jolt that the ground was now dark from hundreds of spiders scrabbling across the floor to get to him.

Pain pricked up his ankle, where an exposed bit of skin had become victim to a pair of fangs. With a growl, Virgil shook it loose. More crawled up his back.

With a full-body shudder, Virgil raced forward, trying to ignore the pitiful noises of crushed spiders beneath his shoes. Their abundance stretched.

Somehow, a few had gotten into his hair. He began to claw at him, running his hands down his arms and sides and constantly finding hairy bodies clinging to his. The ankle that had gotten bitten was throbbing more than it should have been. He couldn’t imagine if one of them got to his mouth, or his  _ eyes… _

He staggered, the ground disappearing from him. The world around him went mute and muffled, and when water filled his mouth he realised why. He shook himself, and felt legs unlatch from his skin. He raked his hands over his limbs, feeling the spiders fall.

Then his brain supplied him with the lovely image of something bigger but much scarier living in the body of water he’d fallen into and he shot skyward.

Breaching the surface, his fingers found the slick floor on the other side of the odd, calm pool. Climbing out, he shuddered again. A web  _ plop _ turned his glare down to a stray spider dragging itself away.

“Bleugh,” he said with another, final whole-body shiver. “I’m going to be feeling spiders crawling on me for  _ weeks.” _

With a sinking realisation, he pulled out the map from his pocket. It was so soaked through it ripped between his fingers. The colours, though he could barely see them anyway, were smudged and running, completely deforming any helpful images. With a frustrated sigh, he threw the useless clump of paper back into the water.

It seemed brighter, where he had found himself now. Colder, too, though that could have been the contributing factor to his now-drenched clothes.

He shook water from his eyes and hugged himself, creeping forward. The hallway was bland, and blank, but it widened considerably the more he walked, until soon it was a dim room without walls. Or, at least, the walls were too far away for Virgil to see them from where he was walking.

It was dark, no longer immeasurably so, but enough that Virgil still had to squint to see anything in great detail, and even then, it was difficult to register much around him.

That was probably why he hadn’t seen the object directly in his path until he was one top of it — quite literally, his foot coming down on something that moved.

He leapt back, heart pounding. He waited for noise, or talking, or even for pain, blood, losing consciousness… but nothing came.

After too-long of waiting in the dark, breaths slowed until they were barely audible, Virgil figured the thing he had stepped on wasn’t a total threat.

Cautiously, he crept out with the toe of his shoe and nudged the thing. It moved, but only with his movement, and nothing after that. It felt heavy enough, but not incredibly so. He wasn’t sure how big it was. He cursed himself, wondering why he didn't just move past it and continue on. Instead, h e nudged it again and, once certain it wasn’t sentient — or at least no longer  _ alive _ — crouched before it.

With a slight tremor in his hand, he reached out and poked it before jerking back.

He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned that it felt like skin. Slowly, searchingly, he felt around until he realised it was someone’s arm. Further inspection and discovery of the rough material of a cheap shirt assured him that it was not a disembodied body part.

Virgil frowned, trying to find what sort of trick or horrible twist the subconscious was throwing at him now. For all he knew, he could walk around this thing and then be attacked from behind by a zombie.

The person’s skin was smooth, though, not rotting, or bony or anything too terrible. He half expected the corpse to reanimate and bite his fingers off as they danced cautiously over its face, trying to identify any significant features. Slack expression, soft hair — Virgil began to feel more awkward than careful. He pulled back, wondering if this was an awful idea and he should just move on, potential ambush or not.

His fingers snagged against something around the body’s shoulders. He frowned, wondering if it was a bag or something he could look through. Except it felt like just more clothing, which was odd, because they were already wearing a shirt, and it was the wrong shape to be a cloak—

The arms of the clothing item were tied together across the chest of the body.

Virgil jerked backwards, his heart thumping as an image of Patton flashed through his mind.

He scrambled back from the limp lump on the floor.

_ Breathe, _ he tried to tell himself, and,  _ It’s not real. _

It didn’t help. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to forget the feeling of the cold skin against his palms. It wasn’t Patton. Patton was safe. Patton was in the mindscape, far away from here. He also hated Virgil, right now, and he had no possible idea where Virgil was, so there was no chance he was even down here.

_ It’s the subconscious. It’s messing with you. _

_ It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real. _

His hands jerked where he had clasped them together. He felt himself having to almost physical fight the urge to reach back for the —  _ fake, _ it was  _ fake _ — body in front of him. Why, Virgil had no idea. To double check? To confirm his horror? To reassure his doubts?

For a terrifying minute, Virgil was almost certain that he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself.

He shot to his feet and practically leapt over the haunting sight (which he couldn’t, thankfully, see). The back of his mind waited, during those slowed seconds of the jump, for a cold hand to grab his ankle or something just as horrifying, but he simply landed almost-silently and shot into the darkness. He felt the walls around him closing in back into a tight hallway.

_ It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s  _ not real.

Virgil, in his attempt to escape the place behind him and his thoughts, didn’t notice the tripping hazard in the middle of the floor until he was tumbling over it.

“Fuck,” he muttered, sprawled across the ground. Instinctively, he kicked out, not intent to relive spider hoards and dead apparitions of his family members.

His attacker flopped uselessly. He squinting, and found it must have lightened up, because he quickly saw that it was about the length of his arm, made of silk, and, thankfully, completely harmless.

Virgil didn’t have time to be relieved, or confused, because what was a random piece of fabric doing down here and how could  _ that _ possibly scare him?

He spotted the loop at the top of the item, and the knot at the front, and then the blood, splattered halfway down the blue tie.

_ Fuck this, _ thought Virgil, fighting nausea. It wasn’t true, it wasn’t real — he  _ knew _ this. So why was it so hard to be faced with? To think about? For all he knew someone could have cut a strip from a striped curtain, dunked it in paint and presented it and Virgil would react the same.  _ Why? _

“Get a grip,” he muttered into his chest, where he had curled in on himself and clutched at his hair. “Get  _ over it.” _

“You certainly seem like you’re having a fun time.”

Virgil’s breath stuttered, caught in his clogged throat, and morphed into a coughing fit.

He rolled over to his hands and knees and stared over at the speaker.

“Fuck off,” he choked out. “You’re not real. No way you’re real.”

“Oh, that  _ hurts.” _ The subconscious’ hallucination put a hand over its chest, eyebrows raised in mock offense. “Really hit below the belt.” He paused, checked the back of his fingers as if he could see his nails through those pretentious as fuck nails, and hummed thoughtfully. “Wait… no, it didn’t.”

“Shut up! Leave me alone!” Virgil scrambled to his feet, but his knees were weak. He fell back against the wall. “You’re not real!”

“Perhaps.” The Janus imposter glided past him to peer curiously down at the bloodied tie. “Peculiar. Is this your doing, too, then?”

“No!” Virgil shouted. “I didn’t do any of this! None of this is real!”

“Of course not,” agreed Janus. “Remus was just a hallucination, too, of course. Alongside the pack of self-destruction that would have torn him limb from limb by now.” He smiled up from the fake tie. “I wonder what was going through Logan’s head while  _ he _ was being mauled to death. Do you think my similar fate was in his thoughts?”

_ “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” _ Virgil screamed, clamping his hands over his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m not listening to you!”

“Of  _ course _ you’re not, darling,” Janus agreed. How was his voice still crystal clear in Virgil’s head?

“Stop!” Virgil shrieked, throwing himself backwards. He slid along the wall. “He wouldn’t say this! He  _ wouldn’t!” _

“No?” hummed Janus’ voice. It seemed closer. Virgil wasn’t sure if he was imagining the breath brushing his bangs. “You don’t think he would hate you? Believe that even after everything  _ you _ still hated  _ him?” _

“Stop,” fervently whispered Virgil.  _ “Stop.” _

“This is your answer, Virgil,” hissed the horrible voice. “He would  _ hate  _ you.”

“Leave me  _ ALONE,” _ Virgil roared. His hand flew out, fear twisting the shadows around him and slicing through the mirage. Janus dissipated like cloud, his voice hissing away. It still echoed in the corners of Virgil’s mind. He shuddered.

His legs still shook as he stood, so moving was slow. Virgil felt as if he had been walking for far too long simply to glance backwards to see the hint of the blood-splattered tie in the shadows. With a wince, he pushed himself forward. The hallway was empty and silent.

Virgil’s legs sunk out from beneath him. He couldn’t understand why he was so exhausted. He needed to get to the mindscape. He… He needed to… to…

Virgil wondered when his eyelids had closed before he was too tired to think about anything anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: minor violence, language

Virgil hadn’t realised he’d fallen asleep until his eyes flew open with an accompanying gasp. He looked around, trying to push the throbbing headache from his skull. He scrambled as fast as he could to his feet, leaning against the wall as stars danced in his vision his mind cursed himself for losing consciousness. God, he really was a piece of work, wasn’t he?

He was so busy shaking his head and trying to clear his blurry eyes that at first he didn’t notice the glowing eyes peering at him from the darkness. They bobbed for a moment, though, and the movement caught his eye. He stared at them, his heart pounding, before slowly beginning to edge along the wall, up the hallway where he still needed to go.

 _It’s another hallucination,_ he told himself. _It’s nothing to worry about. It can’t hurt you. Don’t let it hurt you. It’s okay. Everything’s—_

The eyes lunged.

Except they weren’t just a pair of crazed, glowing eyes, and Virgil was about to melt to the ground in a pool of relief and maybe tears, but then Remus was lifting his morning star and his face was twisted murderously and Virgil just barely scrambled away before the ground he had been standing on was crushed.

“Remus!” he yelped. “What are you doing?”

Remus didn’t answer him. He launched for Virgil again. Virgil rolled to the side.

“I’m sorry I left you with the self-destruction! You told me to do it but I shouldn’t’ve! I should have stayed! I should have _helped,_ I’m sorry!”

Another missed swipe. Virgil was starting to pant with excursion. Remus wasn’t slowing down.

“Remus, _please,_ what’s going on? Are you some type of zombie? Do self-destruction bite?”

Virgil’s shoes caught a lip in the ground and he tumbled. His head slammed back.

“It’s _me,_ Remus! We’re _friends!_ I promise that we’re friends! I’m SORRY FOR LEAVING!”

Remus finally stopped, standing over Virgil with his weapon raised. He was glaring daggers.

“I shouldn’t have left the way I did.” Virgil’s voice was quiet, and out of breath. He kept going, Remus’ rapt attention focused solely on him. “I don’t regret leaving but I regret leaving like _that._ If I could do it over again I would. I’d— I’d take you _with me.”_ He wasn’t talking about the self-destruction anymore. “We’d talk to Thomas. We’d work things out. We’d all be accepted, you a-and Janus.” Virgil didn’t have the strength to try and prevent his hands from shaking. He rasped, “As a family. But we can’t, because of me.” He didn’t look away from Remus’ eyes. _“I’m sorry.”_

For a second, Virgil fooled himself into thinking Remus would relax.

Then he hefted his morning star higher. Virgil’s stomach plummeted.

He twisted his head around, squeezing his eyes shut. Fuck, was he really about to be beaten to death by a spiked ball on a stick. It was going to be slow and painful and he was going to be forced to watch his blood stain the ground beneath him and Remus would be laughing over his pleading and the light sides would continue to corrupt themselves and Thomas would go insane and get himself hurt or arrested or _killed_ and it would _all be Virgil’s fault —_

It was silent.

Virgil opened his eyes.

Remus was gone with not a whisper of evidence in his sudden absence.

Virgil fought with himself not to curl into a ball and stay on the ground.

“See?” he said to himself as he stood on shakily legs. “Didn’t hurt at all.”

 _Physically,_ some demon inside him bit out, but he shook his head like he could filter those thoughts from his head. He had a mission to focus on, and so far he had been doing a less than stellar job.

The first few times he tried to walk, he had to use the wall for assistance, but once he’d started, he didn’t stop, and after a couple of quiet minutes calming himself, he was leaving the empty scene of the fight behind him.

The hallway widened up. The walls shrunk and disappeared into the ground. Dubious looking shrubbery sprouted from the ground. Odd orbs bobbed about distantly far above Virgil’s head, like lame fireflies, or stars that moved, or satellites without a set course. It was still close to blindingly dark on the path, however. There was a strange, muted buzzing sound, as if crickets were hiding in non-existent grass.

The temperature dropped, too. Not to freezing, or even where Virgil was uncomfortable, but it was a noticeable difference that made Virgil realise how flustered and cramped the hallways had made him feel.

Even though it wasn’t cold, Virgil shivered. The change of scenery was unsettling. Virgil didn’t know where self-destruction patrolled. He also didn’t know what kind of horrid monsters stalked the subconscious, or their favourite hangout places.

For once, though, Virgil didn’t feel as if something was crawling along his back, or he was being watched form unseen shadows. Amongst everything, that was a nice change.

He rubbed his arms, trying to focus in on the comfort his hoodie brought him. It was worth it, he told himself, and quickened his pace. He needed to get to Thomas. He needed to get across the subconscious, through the mindscape, and then he’d be safe. He’d be with Thomas, and he could explain everything, and Thomas would fix things because he was so, so good at that, and—

A scream split the air, so brutal and animalistic that the noise of crickets stopped, and the lights in the sky fell still.

Virgil balked. He tucked his chin into his hoodie, gripped his arms in vice-like fists, and walked faster. It could be a pack of self-destruction. It could be some horrible, deformed creature. It could be a trap, another awful hallucination. Whatever it was, Virgil wanted none of it.

The subconscious hadn’t gotten the memo. The cry came again. It was up ahead, but to the far right, so Virgil could easily avoid it.

The next shriek was so prolonged that Virgil had to clamp his hands over his heads. His ears were still ringing even when the scream stopped. Virgil swallowed against his dry throat.

“I’d rather murderous spiders,” he muttered to himself.

He couldn’t brave through the next cry. The moment he heard his own name being screamed, he broke with a small cry and had to stop walking to re-block his ears. _Stop it. Stop it. Stop it._

He scrubbed his hands down his face, trying to focus on his erratic breathing.

“It’s not real,” he told himself and continued walking. “It’s _so_ not real. Nothing has been real up to this point. Why would—”

_“VIRGIL!”_

“You’re not _real!”_ Virgil shouted into the darkness, then had to clamp his hand over his mouth. _It’s NOT. REAL._

This time he could hear the sobbing cries through his hands.

_He hates you. He hates you. He attacked you. They all drove you out. He doesn’t give a shit about you. He wouldn’t be down here. He wouldn’t be crying for you. He WOULDN’T._

Virgil realised with a start that his throat was burning, and that he was screaming as well. It was almost physically difficult to stop. He moved his hand to his mouth again, and his voice died away.

The environment had gone deathly silent. Virgil waited, heart in his throat and chest aching, for another scream. A cry, a sob, his voice again, for something to tell him that he wasn’t safe yet.

Nothing.

Slowly, Virgil peeled his other hand from the side of his head. He still listened carefully as he stood up and looked around.

When he worked up the courage to continue walking, his footsteps barely made sounds. He passed boulders that rose above his head, and small trees replaced the half-dead bushes, and he didn’t hear anything.

 _It was fake,_ he assured himself. _Another hallucination. Everything is FINE._

His hands didn’t believe him. He shoved them into his pockets.

“Virgil?”

“Oh, the fuck is it now?” Virgil shouted. He looked around, but for how close the voice sounded, there was nothing around. “Thomas, this time? Really? Have you not had enough? Stop it!”

His name came again, this time behind him. Thomas still wasn’t there.

“Piss _off,”_ Virgil growled. “I’m not dealing with your bullshit!” He glared around the darkness. “Do you hear me? I’m sick of it!”

He didn’t get a response. He nodded to himself. Good.

He moved to walk on.

Something growled.

He froze.

In front of them, in the middle of the path, was a self-destruct. They were hideous things, close to indescribable, at least to an aspect like Anxiety. All Virgil could think was _danger_ and _scary._ If Roman or Remus were there, he was sure they would have effectively told Virgil exactly what was standing in front of him.

_But they’re not here._

A second growl drew Virgil’s attention to another self-destruct prowling in the shadows to his right. There was a scuffing sound to his left, and further animalistic grunts coming from all angles.

Virgil clenched his fists. These weren’t hallucinations. They wouldn’t be scared off by some scary shadow tricks.

He tried to back up but teeth snapped at his ankles. He kicked out on instinct, but they were too fast.

_Think. What would everyone else do?_

Remus had fought these things, like the lunatic he was. Remus had also had experience with combat, a morning star, and trained by attacking monsters ten times the size of these things. Logan wouldn’t be stupid enough to get himself caught in this situation in the first place.

Virgil pressed his back against the boulder on the side of the path. He slid to the ground. The snarling increased.

One self-destruct stalked forward, jowls dripping and bared teeth sharp and shifting. Spittle flecked Virgil’s cheeks. His breathing hitched. There was something he could do to fix that, wasn’t there? A breathing pattern. Numbers, or something. He didn’t know them. He couldn’t remember.

He buried his face in his knees. If he was about to be mauled to death, he didn’t want to watch it happen.

A snarl, a weird warping noise, and a squeal.

Virgil didn’t feel any different. Were they fighting over who got to attack him first?

That same, odd whirring sound. Another noise of pain, this time from where a self-destruct had been eyeing him up to his left.

He didn’t uncurl, even as multiple similar sounds echoed around him. Rapidly retreating footsteps finally drew his head up, and he watched as the pack of self-destruction fled into the darkness. Had they fought so much they’d scared themselves off?

_The fuck?_

Something long, thin and brown was suddenly hovering in front of his face. He jerked back, scowling. He followed it up to—

“Oh, fuck me,” Virgil growled. “Learn a new trick,” he muttered under his breath to the subconscious, like it could hear him.

“Magnanimous, for someone who just saved your life.” The Janus hallucination drew his staff back to perch it on the ground and lean against it.

“That’s not what that word means,” Virgil said. The hallucination merely looked amused.

“Who am I, darling?” he asked with a show of a sharp-toothed smirk.

Virgil grumbled under his breath. “I thought Roman was the one who made dramatic entrances.”

The hallucination raised an unimpressed eyebrow. He spun his staff in one hand, looking for all the world like he was completely unbothered by a nearby pack of self-destruction. A small orb, glowing a quiet yellow, formed from the end of the stick, fading when he lowered it again.

“Roman couldn’t have done _that,”_ the hallucination pointed out smugly.

Virgil rolled his eyes, and braced himself to stand.

Then the hallucination reached down and _gripped him by the elbow._

Virgil yelped, but was too shocked to pull away from he was hefted to his feet. He staggered backwards, his back thumping painfully to the boulder. The— it was _not_ a hallucination, unless the subconscious was somehow— stronger— he didn’t—

Janus — Janus, _Janus,_ no _fucking_ way — looked concerned. His hand was half-reaching for Virgil, but giving him space like he was scared to startled Virgil again

After a moment of wide-eyed staring, Janus said slowly, “I do hope it crossed your mind at least once that it’s improbable for a literal personality aspect to die permanently.”

This didn’t calm Virgil’s panicking heart. “Sure.”

Janus relaxed, pulling back. Instantly, he looked more like he always did, unbothered and unimpressed and smug and…

(Alive?)

“Well,” he said, looking away to straighten his clock, “if you’re so _well-informed — ”_

He cut off abruptly and blinked down at Virgil as he buried his face to his chest. His ribs ached with the strength of Virgil’s arms. He almost made a snide comment. And he would have, if not for Virgil’s shuddering shoulders.

“Oh, darling,” he murmured. He ran a hand through Virgil’s hair, but was shaken off.

“I still hate you,” Virgil assured him. Janus assumed they were going to ignore the thickness of his voice. A smile twitched at his lips. He pat Virgil’s back once.

“Of course.”

Janus stayed there for as long as Virgil wanted, only pulled back when the anxious side finally dropped his arms.

“Ready to keep going?” he asked, tilting his head down to try and meet Virgil’s eyes. Virgil stubbornly looked away, scrubbing at his face with his sleeves.

“Yeah,” he said, like it was obvious. “I always was.”

“Uh-huh,” Janus agreed with an amused smile. He got a weak glare in reply. “Well, come on then.” He set off on the dark pathway that had previous been blocked off by self-destruction.

Virgil fell into step with him. His eyes were clearer now, even if his cheeks were rubbed red. “I don’t have a map,” he said, almost apologetically. Janus looked at him curiously. Virgil scratched at the back of his head. “I lost it in a river. Being chased by murderous spider hoards.”

Janus knew firsthand that as much as that sounded amusing, it could not have been much fun.

“The subconscious is good at playing at our thoughts,” he said. “You’ve done well to get this far.”

“I left Remus,” Virgil confessed in a quiet, broken voice.

Janus didn’t spare him a glance. “I assure you that Remus is far scarier than almost anything in here.”

“I left him to a pack of self-destruction.”

Janus finally looked down, even as his gaze was religiously avoided. “Honey, Remus wakes up ready to fight Roman’s Dragon Witch and Manticore-Chimera on a daily basis. I doubt self-destruction are particularly terrifying.”

Virgil muttered something that vaguely sounded like, _“Crazy bastard,”_ which made Janus chuckle.

“But— how are we going to get to the mindscape?” Virgil asked. Janus sighed inwardly. He supposed he couldn’t blame the embodiment of anxiety for having doubts. It would be nice, though, for once to be trusted. “We have to get to Thomas— we have to get through the subconscious, and then the mindscape, and we don’t have the map, or— and—”

“Sweetheart.” Janus stopped. He swung his staff around and bent down to hook the curve under Virgil’s chin and tilt his head up to force their gazes to meet. “Who are you travelling with?”

“An asshole,” Virgil answered dutifully.

Janus barely succeeded in suppressing the snort that bubbled in his throat. He leant back, unable to hide his smirk. “An asshole who has the subconscious in the palm of his hand.”

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “So uh, how did that whole thing work out for you before? You know, with the self-destruction and subconscious and you being killed and everything?”

Janus frowned down at him. Virgil kept his innocently confused expression.

Janus turned and kept briskly walking. "The _po_ _int is_ I know how to handle this place.”

Virgil snorted, then had to jog to catch up. “How’d that work out for you last time?”

“I’m sorry, who was just _sobbing_ into my chest?”

“I was not _sobbing,”_ protested Virgil with a lip-curl of disgust. “I don’t _sob.”_

Janus hummed doubtfully. Virgil hissed at him and punched him in the ribs. Janus’ breath heaved from him as he teetered to the side.

“Oh, _sure,”_ he hissed, glaring as Virgil hurried merrily past him, “attack your only chance of getting out of here safely.”

“Your fault for rescuing me,” Virgil said over his shoulder.

Janus shook his head, straightening and trailing after him. “I’ll just leave you to your own devices next time, shall I?”

Virgil made an agreeable noise. Janus bit back another amused smirk.

And if they spend the rest of their time travelling through that section of the subconscious like that, acting as if nothing had changed, then neither of them were going to complain about it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: fighting, non-graphic injury, choking, blood mention

Virgil didn’t want to admit that he had instantly felt infinitely more comfortable travelling the subconscious side-by-side with Janus, but that was the truth of it. He also didn’t want to admit that he’d had to bite down his emotions several more times in the middle of his banter with the deceitful side, or that he had edged close enough while they walked to brush against Janus’ arm. Janus hadn’t commented on it.

Multiple times Virgil jumped at the howls of self-destruction in the distant. Janus had made an effort to strike up conversation, and to begin with, it was awkward, because the two of them didn’t _do_ pleasantries. As time continued, though, Virgil found that Janus’ voice was soothingly distracting, and the next time something snarled far away, Virgil didn’t even flinch. He pretended to miss the pride in Janus’ smile, because he would settle for friendly conversation but he was not going to do any of those soft, _mushy_ feelings.

Grunts, snarls, growls, and other sounds of a fight caught the pair’s attention up ahead.

“It’s probably nothing,” Janus said flippantly. Virgil looked at him, dubious. He hesitated. “But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

Virgil was in strong agreement as he hurried after Janus through the fogged darkness. It lifted, slightly, so Virgil actually managed to see what was happening from a distance for once. His breath caught in his throat.

Janus lifted his cane, that weird yellow glow illuminating again. Virgil watched as the huge self-destruct whirled around to look at it, then spit defensively, backing away.

Remus took that distraction as an opportune moment to swing his morning star into its face and send it squealing away. Janus trailed after it with his narrowed gaze before a cry caught his attention. He whirled back, ready for another attack, to instead watch Virgil throw himself into Remus’ arms. The deceitful side huffed (not fondly, okay, it wasn’t like he cared). The little spitfire was going to give hugs to just about everyone at the moment, wasn’t he?

Remus hefted him up easily, but he looked slightly baffled. “How the hell were you behind me? Did you not take those tunnels on the map?”

Virgil pulled back, looking sheepishly. “I might have lost the map.”

Remus snorted. “Down your pants, or in it in a lava pit or something?”

Virgil shrugged. Remus grinned toothily and ruffled his hair. “No matter. I know the subconscious pretty… well…”

He stared over at Janus. Moving a bit like some predatory animal seizing up its next meal, Remus stalked over to Janus and circled him, squinting suspiciously. He poked Janus in the cheek, then pulled back.

“What, are you going to tell me snakes have the same deal as cats? Only eight more dicks left, or something?” he said finally. Virgil choked on his laughter. Janus sighed quietly and didn’t humour him.

“Shall we keep moving?” he said instead.

“Yes, please,” Virgil piped up. “I want to get out of here. I’m sick of this place.”

Remus continued to eyeball Janus for a bit before he grinned. Janus was incredibly grateful for the creative side’s heedless attitude. It was refreshing, between Virgil’s reaction and the things he was going to have to explain to the light sides once they got them under control.

Janus moved past the two of them, trusting they’d follow. He could almost feel their confused glances as he stroke off the path to the left.

There was a lip on the ground, a small hill. Realistically, it was totally inconspicuous.

Until Janus used the hook of his staff to lift a sheet of wood disguised as dark grass to reveal an underground tunnel.

Remus giggled. “It looks like a butthole.” He dove through it immediately. Unlike Remus, Virgil hesitated at the mouth of the cave, his face twisted in suspicion.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” Janus purred with a smirk and courteous bow. “Still don’t trust me?”

Instead of taking the bait, like Janus expected, Virgil whirled on him, a fire in his eyes.

“Just because things are scary right now does _not_ mean I’ve forgotten the type of side you are,” Virgil hissed. _“Or_ the things you’ve done.” Janus drew back, his own lip curling upwards in distaste. There was a snarl in Virgil’s voice. “I might be relieved that you’re not dead, but that does not mean I have to be happy about it.”

Janus didn’t respond before Virgil turned and stalked into the cave. He certainly was not dejected as he followed.

Remus was waiting impatiently for them, shifting his weight and moving his morning star from hand to hand.

“Finally,” he said once Janus met them. “Let’s go.”

Janus pushed past Virgil before he could shoot forward.

“Stay behind us,” he said, ignoring Virgil’s challenging noises of disagreement. “This tunnel comes right into the mindscape. I doubt the light sides will be so happy to see you back.”

Virgil hissed angrily, but he wasn’t graced with a reply from either of them.

The tunnel wasn’t that long. There were no bends or dips, only a straight corridor with a bit of a low ceiling. At first it smelt like damp moss with an uncomfortable under-hint of something dead, but as they progressed step-by-step, the air turned sweet, like freshly baked cookies. Virgil was quiet behind them, his frustrated muttering fading away.

Janus pushed through a door that intercepted them and appeared at the top of the staircase. Remus, who hadn’t been paying attention, stumbled and fell to the bottom of the stairs. Janus resisted a sigh.

Virgil ducked out, and the door tilted closed behind him, vanishing. “I didn’t know this was here.”

Janus scoffed. “Of course not. I never showed you.”

He stepped down the stairs, where he eyed the tell tale glimpses of primary colours mixed with blacks and greys and whites flitting around the living room.

“What a party,” he mused as he reached the bottom.

Patton, who had been in the kitchen, jerked his head around to look at the newcomers. “You’re dark sides.” Janus pointed to his own chest, eyebrows lifted in disbelief. Patton’s expression darkened. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“By that logic, neither should you.” Remus stood from the bottom of the stairs, eyes narrowed. His quip wasn’t accompanied by a nickname. It sounded wrong, to Janus’ ears.

“If we are discussing logical conversation, then the prices for snake-skin accessories have increased online over the past two months.” Logan – Janus hadn’t even seen him – moved in from the side of the kitchen.

Janus’ eyes shone. “Oh, you’re _fun_ like this, Logan.” Virgil shot his back a murderous look, but went rigid when the cold of steel bit into the side of his neck.

Oblivious, Janus spun his staff, a smirk on his face. “Come now, dearies, let’s not make this more complicated then it really must be.”

“Or violent,” Remus piped up, emphasising his point by lifting his morning star. “I don’t have a problem with it, but Janus doesn’t like getting blood on his clothes.”

“It stains,” Janus agreed sagely.

“Shame,” a dull voice said, partnered with a hitch of panicked breath. Janus and Remus whirled around. Virgil was frozen under Roman’s sword blade, his eyes round and wide. He looked… surprisingly, less scared, and more in pain, like Roman had already stabbed him.

He _hadn’t,_ Janus knew as a fact, because Virgil wasn’t acting injured, and Remus wasn’t snarling at the fresh scent of blood. So, really, right now it was fine, but Janus still felt ill.

“Drop him,” Remus snarled.

Roman regarded him vacantly. His grip tightened on his sword, tense, as if he was actually going to—

Remus didn’t give him a chance.

Virgil rolled away the moment his neck was free of danger. Remus and Roman twisted away, weapons locking and limbs lashing.

Janus spun. The end of his staff clocked Logan in the side of the head, sending him teetering to the side.

“Keep him under control!” Janus barked to Virgil at the anxious side’s distressed cry. Without waiting for a response, he tripped Patton backwards. The light side hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, and Janus had to wince. Excusing Roman’s fantastical, limited training in combat, the poor morons were useless to defend themselves without experience. Janus pinned the corrupted moral side to the ground, even as he struggled.

“Here’sss how this is going to go,” he hissed, leaning down to be face-to-face with a side who Janus knew was kind, and generous, and far too selfless for his own good. He got a grunted snarl in reply. “You’re going to relax for me.”

“You’ll only get to Thomas!” Patton snapped.

“Isn’t that what we should be doing?” Virgil cried from where he was grappling with a dizzy but protesting Logan. “We need to reach Thomas!”

“Thomas can’t fix this.” Janus pressed the palm of his hand to Patton’s forehead. “Ssstop.” Patton went limp. This was not missed by Virgil, who shouted a demand to jnow what Janus was doing. “This isss not who Thomasss isss. This iss not _Morality._ Is it, Patton?”

Patton squinted, looking confused. He blinked hard. Slowly, the black of his eyes began to fade. “What… Janus…?”

Janus smirked. “Glad to see you’re not going to banish me to the subconscious.”

Patton looked horrified. “Of course not! Why would—”

Logan threw Virgil into the dinner table. A mug sitting there fell to the ground and smashed. Janus and Patton jerked up, the moral side’s hands moving to cover his mouth.

“Logan!” Patton cried at the same time as Janus hissed it. The logical side whirled to glare at them.

With Patton’s help, Logan’s eyes regarded colour and he slumped backwards, moving to hold his head. “What in Newton’s Laws…”

Patton lunged for him, slinging his arms around Logan’s neck with a cry of, “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

From the other side of the table, Virgil groaned and lifted his head. “Sure, no worries guys, I’m fine.”

Patton gasped (a tad dramatically, in Janus humble opinion) and launched towards the anxious side, practically dragging a disgruntled Logan with him.

Janus couldn’t even feel nauseous at the ridiculous display, his own anxiety was skyrocketing once more, this time at Remus’ pained cry.

He wheeled around just in time to watch Roman skewer his brother through the shoulder.

Janus bit back an animalistic snarl and shot forward. He looped his staff around Roman’s neck and tugged hard, sending him careening backwards into the coffee table with a sick thud. Remus slid the sword from his shoulder. Janus pinned Roman to the ground at an awkward angle, his staff digging into his throat.

“Don’t hurt him!” Virgil cried from where he was struggling away from Patton and Logan.

“Easy, Double Dee,” Remus said behind him. “He’s not all-there, remember?”

Janus scowled, but decidedly didn’t choke the creative side to death. He eased up on the pressure, and Virgil and Patton stuck themselves to Roman’s sides. Janus didn’t even have to work too hard; the prince’s eyes flooded with familiarity quickly. Only when he was wincing and looking worriedly around at his friends did Janus finally pull back and relax.

He tuned out Roman’s alarmed cries at Remus’ injury, and Remus’ cheerful replies. He closed his eyes, searching through the mindscape. It was quiet, no foul thoughts or corrupted energy. He heaved a quiet sigh. His shoulders loosened. He turned a disdainful eye down on the others, crowed on the floor like a litter of lost puppies.

“You’re all _very welcome,_ by the way,” he hissed. “That didn’t take a _monumental_ effort or anything.”

“Hey, easy,” Remus laughed. “I think you’re forgetting that I had to fight hoards of self-destruction before you showed up.”

“I am never going back to the subconscious again,” Virgil said with a shudder. Patton rubbed his shoulders reassuringly.

“About that,” he began slowly, hesitantly. “Can we discuss what just happened?”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Just then, or the entirety of the past two days?” Patton blushed.

“I vote that is a fantastic idea,” Roman said, standing, “because you need to get that shoulder wrapped before the blood makes me nauseous.” He frowned down at his brother before moving to the downstairs bathroom.

“Hey, who’s fault is this?” Remus called after him. “No worries, anyway, I can probably lick it all up.”

“Oh, _yuck!”_ Virgil punched him hard enough to overbalance him, sending him tipping onto his back. “Do you have any idea how _unsanitary_ that is?”

Remus snorted. “Well, yeah. That’s kind of the point.”

Janus groaned, massaging his temples. He could already feel the oncoming headache.

But, he figured as he watched Virgil jerk away from Remus’ teasing, and Logan scowl both of them for their immaturity while Patton and Roman laughed, perhaps it wasn’t completely horrible.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, i have to apologise, the order of the chapters was not aligned as i thought they were. the sixth chapter was posted as 'chapter 5'. i have posted both 'chapter 5' and 'chapter 6' and reordered them correctly. i apologise for any added confusion, and anyone who is reading this as it updates may want to go back and read 'chapter 5' as it had not previously been posted before 'chapter 6'. i hope that makes sense, and i hope i haven't confused anyone more than they may already have been.

The following few weeks were, in a way, exhausting. The confusing events prior to the resolution were as follows: the drama with the wedding, leading to Thomas’ deteriorating mental health, leading to the increased strength of the subconscious’ packs of self-destruction, lead to Janus being unable to suppress them. This meant the light sides were corrupted by the lack of deception, and the worst parts of them ate away at who they were. As time continued, Thomas as they found out, partially oblivious to the drastic change inside himself but not completely naive to assume something had happened, purposefully began to lie in some vanish attempt to help his deceptive function (Janus had  _ not _ been touched, thank you  _ very _ much,  _ ssshut it). _ That alone had been enough to speed his recovery and find Virgil.

Everyone else already knew the rest.

And for the most part, recovery was fantastic. Thomas had been informed of everything, and Janus and Remus now frequently visited the mindscape, perhaps as a way for the light sides to apologise. Meals weren’t tense, and movie nights now meant the couch was almost always full.

Virgil thought it was all great, really.

Apart from the fact that food was turning to ash in his mouth, and on the rare occasions that he genuinely feel asleep he never stayed down for more than half an hour. One time, he’d been dragged along with Roman and Janus for some bullshit ‘self-care day spa’ and when Roman had jokingly tried to massage his shoulders had been horrified at how tense he was.

So yeah, maybe it wasn’t all great.

But his family was safe and happy, so nothing to complain about, right?

Oh, wrong wrong wrong. _All wrong,_ as it turned out.

Virgil was far more powerful than he ever gave himself credit for. There had been a reason he had survived that far through the subconscious, alone, with nothing aiding him. The effects that Virgil was feeling had extended through the entirety of the mindscape, a thick, coiling presence that felt like weighted darkness and stifled like a smoke haze. Once, when the living room was quiet and notably absent of Virgil, Logan had wondered aloud if it was a personification — of sorts — of what constant anxiety felt like. No one had replied to him. Despite this, the others tried to dismiss it and ignore it in Virgil’s favour. Confronting him wouldn’t help, right?

This was doing nothing but made it worse.

The stress of the last week had taken its toll on Virgil, and at this point, he had developed into an unhealthy function.

He had been too high-strung, for too long, and it was hurting Thomas.

They were running out of options, Janus had said, voice subdued and expression worn. “If Virgil doesn’t relax soon, it’ll cause a collapse in the mindscape. That, or self-destruction will break through the barrier.” He had been clutching his staff so tight the wood creaked under his grip. He had sounded horribly, awfully, uncharacteristically lost when he’d said, “I don’t know what we’ll do if that happens.”

“It could cause a complete shutdown of Thomas’ mind,” Logan had supplied effortlessly, even though his own haunted eyes contrasted his smooth exposition. “We could re-corrupt. Worse, too, you supposed ‘dark sides’ could corrupt.”

Janus had muttered a sarcastic thanks in reply. Logan hadn’t risen to the bait.

Not even logic himself had been the one to point out the unspeakable ‘solution’. Once, Remus had joked about getting rid of Virgil. He’d made the mistake of saying it in full view of everyone else. He hadn’t made that joke twice.

“We could try wiping his memory,” Logan had suggested quietly, when he and Janus were alone at the dinner table at two in the morning, mugs of coffee growing hold between their fingers. Janus had shaken his head numbly.

“It will damage Thomas.”

“We can rebuild his memory but we can’t rebuild _him,_ Janus.”  Janus hadn’t replied.  “Virgil is _breaking.”_ Logan had ignored Janus’ flinch. “We have to do _something.”_

Janus’ gaze had sharpened to a glare. “If I must do something, then Remus and I are going to the subconscious with him.”

Logan had hesitated. Janus had stood and stalked for the stairs.

“It may be the memories of being in the mindscape that are causing Virgil this trauma,” Logan said. Janus had paused, glancing over his shoulder with a scowl.

“What?”

“If we wipe his memory, the conflicting memories of being simultaneously a dark side and light side may cause more harm. He may remember his time with you, but that will be confused with being a light side.”

Janus growled. He had left the room but hadn’t slept at all that night.

The following morning, Logan brought this proposal and its accompanying issues to the other sides, finally confronting Virgil himself about the problem at hand.

Patton was devastated that Virgil wouldn’t remember them, despite Logan’s vehemence that it would be better than the current path they were on. Perhaps surprisingly, it was Roman who was fiercely against casting the dark sides out.

Logan frowned down at Roman. “It is the only option, Roman.” It sounded like it pained him to say.

“Is it?” Roman shot back. He glanced over at Virgil, who had been silently curled up on the couch the entire time. The prince’s gaze flickered up to his brother, who had been similarly oddly quiet throughout the entire exchange. Remus was running his fingers through Virgil’s hair rhythmically, a strange gentleness about him that he had never displayed before. Then Roman looked straight at Janus, who returned his gaze questioningly.

“Put us in the subconscious instead,” Roman said. He was immediately met with an outburst.

“WHAT?” both Janus and Patton cried. Virgil jolted awake at their shouts, his wide eyes darting around widely. Logan darted over to help Remus soothe him, shooting Roman curious looks over his shoulder.

“I can’t even begin to imagine how harmful that could be,” Janus ranted as he paced back and forth, waving his arms like he was painting a portrait of his disapproval.

“No one is going to the subconscious,” Patton was announcing at the same time. “Do you know how dangerous that place could be? With all the self-destructs and repressed thoughts and—”

“It could do irreparable damage to Thomas,” Janus muttered. “His Light Sides being shoved to the depths of his mind? Morality of all things being suppressed—?”

“We’re not as good as Janus is about defending ourselves from those monsters,” Patton cried. “Did you see what happened to us?”

“Just— give me a chance to—” Roman held up his hands, as if to keep the onslaught of verbal danger at bay.

“Absolutely ridiculous—”

“Wh— Hey, listen to—” Even Remus was trying to butt in now, but Patton and Janus were speaking too loud to hear.

“Such a horrible—”

“ENOUGH!”

Everyone fell quiet and looked over at Remus, who was glowering at them from Virgil’s side.

“You are behaving like children,” Logan spat. Janus opened his mouth to protest but Logan spoke over him. “You are talking over each other without listening to anything either of  you are saying. You did not give Roman a chance to explain his idea, and _furthermore,”_ both Patton and Janus flinched at his angered tone, “your noise has distressed Virgil.”

The pair looked guiltily down at the anxious side, who was quivering in Remus’ arms. Logan looked to Roman.

“What were your intentions in proposing that idea?” he asked.

Roman looked uncertainly between all of them, as if waiting to be yelled at again, before slowly and quietly saying, “It just seemed the better option.”

“How?” Logan asked before either Patton or Janus could interject again. The sharpness of his voice was not directed to the prince.

Roman rubbed his arms. “We could swap roles,” he said. “You’re good at keeping Thomas safe, all of you.” He nodded to the dark sides. “And just because we would be in the subconscious doesn’t mean our functions would be repressed. Right? Thomas would still be logical, and have a sense of morality. Plus, I… I don’t want you guys to be stuck there again.” He shrugged. “It was… just a thought.”

Logan could agree that that actually made some sense. By the look on Janus' face and the reserved one on Patton’s, he could tell they were thinking the same thing.

The day passed in quiet discussion. A few arguments broke out, and disagreements were passed every which way.

By the time Thomas was readying himself for bed in the real world, a decision had been made amongst his sides.

Virgil hadn’t spoken a word all day. He still didn’t, but the way he was painfully scrubbing at his nose and tears was bitterly loud.

Patton had knelt in front of where he was sitting on the couch, cooing quietly as he ran his hands through the anxious side’s hair. Logan was talking to him softly, unheeded by the way Virgil had fisted a handful of his shirt.

Janus’ hadn’t had to tell Remus to give them space; he was perched on the edge of the dining table, watching like a hawk, but he was quiet. He let them have their moment.

Janus had pulled Roman to the side and explained how his staff worked. He’d asked for the prince’s sword and watched as Roman’s eyes widened, reflecting off the light Janus pressed into the blade.

“My staff’s now useless.” Roman looked up at him, surprised. “Your sword is going to be the thing keeping you all safe.”

Roman had taken it with narrowed eyes and a quiet but firm, “Okay.”

Remus had replaced Roman at Janus' side once he moved back to the couch. “Are you sure about this?”  Janus wasn’t. He knew Remus wasn’t either. He didn’t reply. Remus squeezed his arm briefly.

Virgil was leaning into Roman’s touch where he was ruffling the anxious side’s hair. Patton was crying again.

Finally, Logan murmured something that pulled Patton and Roman back. Virgil looked furious with how hard he was biting down his emotions. It almost hurt to see.

Janus didn’t watch the light sides when they said their final goodbyes to Virgil, or when Remus catapulted himself across the room at them. He listened to but didn’t watch Patton and Logan complain about being squeezed too hard. He didn’t watch when they finally sunk out to the subconscious.  Virgil made a choked off sound. Remus was agonisingly silent of jokes and innuendo.

Janus crossed the living room to cup Virgil’s damp face in his hands. The two stared at each other, Janus unsure what to say and Virgil unwilling to speak.

“It’ll stop hurting,” Janus finally murmured. His thump gently swiped across Virgil’s cheek.  Virgil sniffed. The nod Janus received was firm, if small. Janus nodded back. His eyes glowed yellow. Then so did Virgil’s.

Within a few seconds, the light faded.

When Virgil blinked, Janus knew with a certainty that almost felt like it was killing him that he was looking at a different Anxiety.


End file.
